


Fair Bargains Are Always Subjective

by naye



Category: Gintama
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Joui 4, Joui War, Learning to be Loved, Loyalty, Mild self-sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 06:19:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13734930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naye/pseuds/naye
Summary: There is nothing Gintoki won't give for a chance at saving Zura's life, no matter what it might cost him.





	Fair Bargains Are Always Subjective

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the February round of [H/C Bingo](https://hc-bingo.dreamwidth.org/). Many thanks to the mods for allowing me to join, and for the inspiring 2x2 card (prompts in end notes) I ended up with!

“Here he is. Shiroyasha.” Takasugi’s words were promptly followed by kick that Gintoki felt was rather excessively enthusiastic, and he went down hard on his knees. Over his head he could practically hear Takasugi smile. “Now please. I believed you promised me a reward?” 

Gintoki really wanted to catch what happened next, but it became impossible to see much of anything except flashes of light and shadow in the bright noon light as a swarm of Bakufu men closed in on him. There were hands and fists and weapons — they were taking no chances with him, even trussed up as he was — and when Gintoki craned his neck to catch a glimpse of Takasugi he saw no remorse or regret in his friend’s face. Their eyes locked briefly before Takasugi disappeared from view behind the clamouring soldiers, and still there was nothing in Takasugi’s expression as he left Gintoki utterly alone and completely surrounded. Nothing at all to let Gintoki know if this had all been worth it. _Well, shit._

* * *

If you asked Gintoki, it was definitely all Zura’s fault. They’d both survived, they’d both staggered off that battlefield together after Zura stopped planning his noble death and fought for his life instead. That should have been that — a few days’ rest to get back on their feet, a few more to be fighting fit again. That’s how it worked, that’s how it had always worked because they were young and strong and had a war to fight. So that’s what Gintoki did, and what Zura should have done. But did he? No.

At first Gintoki thought Zura was being lazy or something. Like maybe Gintoki had finally gotten through to Zura about the importance of sleep, and his friend had picked up his habit of being slow to rise and quick to nap. And if Zura had seemed a bit out of it — well, it hadn’t been an easy fight. So that hand resting on the palisade as they were taking in the state of the daimyo mansion grounds they were currently occupying and that slight wobbliness as they sat down together to look at the updated map wasn’t anything Gintoki worried about — he felt much the same, really. Giving death such a thorough thrashing would take it out of you.

It took it out of you, but it shouldn’t make you topple over in the mud while walking to the latrine. At least he hadn’t made it all the way, or that fall could have been a lot worse, Gintoki supposed. Maybe it would have been funny to him when they were younger — Zura tripping over his own feet in the dark. But it didn’t strike Gintoki as particularly amusing when he went out for a piss and almost fell over Zura retching and shaking on the ground. At first he just stared, wondering how the hell he had missed whatever party had left Zura in that state. But no — there had been precious few reasons to celebrate lately, and even fewer chances to get enough sake to get properly drunk. 

Plus even properly drunk, Zura wouldn’t be on all fours throwing up in front of the latrine. That was more Gintoki’s style. “Oi. Zura.” 

When he didn’t protest the nickname Gintoki crouched down, trying to make sense of what was going on. Zura was braced on one trembling arm, wiping at his mouth with the back of his free hand. His unnecessarily long hair had gotten everywhere, so Gintoki reached out to tuck it back into place — “Hey. You’re burning up.” Gintoki had brushed against Zura’s skin, and one brief touch had been enough to rest his palm on his friend’s forehead in alarm. It was hot and clammy, and Gintoki nudged Zura’s arm over his own shoulder to steady him.

“Just need… sleep,” Zura tried to deflect. But he was shivering against Gintoki, and his breath was coming short and shallow.

“Sure you do,” Gintoki said, taking more of Zura’s weight and trying to see if anyone else was around at this late hour. There would be soldiers patrolling the mansion grounds of course, but they didn’t need to see Zura like this. Their doctor, however, did. And even at this time of night, Ootani would probably be found near her patients. So off they went, awkwardly, Zura protesting and Gintoki ignoring him in favor of rousing a sleep-mussed Ootani from her well-earned rest. 

The tough old doctor bullied Zura into allowing himself to be stripped off while Gintoki lit some lanterns. It made the screened-off corner in the daimyo’s storehouse — now emptied of supplies and filled with wounded — even warmer and stuffier, but Zura hunched up on the futon and and shivered when Ootani lifted his sweat-soaked undershirt off.

The doctor didn’t bother unwinding the bandages, deftly slicing them open with a steady hand Gintoki knew from experience never left as much as a scratch on the skin below. Zura hissed as Ootani gently worked the cotton strips loose. Gintoki watched closely, and the look in Ootani’s eyes as she paused, unwound bandages still in his hands, held more terror for him than an entire platoon of Amanto. Their doctor was fierce and unfailing in her own battle against death, refusing to surrender any of her charges without a fight. But as she looked at Zura now her lined face set, hardening so quickly Gintoki couldn’t quite tell if he had glimpsed resignation or despair. Maybe Gintoki could manage to hold on to a desperate hope that it had been neither — just a trick of the shadows thrown by the flickering light.

Ootani put the bandages aside, and sat back on her heels with a sigh. “Katsura. Why didn’t you come see me earlier?”

Gintoki wondered much the same, angry with Zura for being a dunce and with Ootani for the way she just sat there and with himself for being scared, because of course Zura would be alright. 

“Was fine,” Zura panted, and Ootani’s brows creased. “No bother.”

“You do know what my job is, right? It would not have been a bother, had you come earlier. Now?” Ootani shook her head. “Now it truly is ‘a bother’, as you put it, kid.”

Zura smiled faintly. “My apologies, Doctor. I—” His breath rattled, and he swallowed convulsively. “I didn’t wish to burden you unduly.”

Ootani gave a snort of bitter laughter. “Oh, of course.” Then she asked Gintoki to go for boiling water, and set to tending Zura in silence. When she had finished, Zura curled up on the futon in fresh bandages under a shabby blanket, dozing fitfully. Ootani gestured for Gintoki to follow, and went into the warm darkness of the night outside. 

The doctor leaned against the wall of the storehouse, taking a moment to light her slim pipe with calm, practiced motions. Then she looked up at the stars and sighed. “Sakata.” Ootani paused. Her silence was a heavy one, for all the night insects chorusing a faint background, and Gintoki filled it with denial. The doctor would have to say something else, anything else, she couldn’t— “I’m sorry. There’s nothing more I can do.”

Gintoki shook his head, an adamant refusal of everything those words conveyed, and his hand went uselessly to the hilt of his sword. As if this was something he could fight.

Ootani didn’t seem to mind. Her eyes were hooded, the lines around her mouth pulled into a bitter smile. “Katsura is young and strong and stubborn, just like the rest of you lot. If he hadn’t been…” Ootani bit down on her pipe, took a steadying drag.

“He can make it. Whatever it is, Zura can beat it,” Gintoki said quietly, fiercely.

Ootani exhaled, blowing smoke at the stars and blinking lights that might be more than stars in the night sky. “It’s good that you won’t give up on your friend. And he shouldn’t give up either. But you should let the others know — Sakamoto, Takasugi. They might want to arrange to see him. Soon.”

“Soon?” Gintoki’s throat had gone tight. 

“It’s an infected wound, and it’s poisoned him. This whole time he quietly let it get worse it was already killing him by degrees.” Ootani turned to look at Gintoki, gaze sad and steady. “It won’t have an easy time, taking that kid down. Almost anyone else, they’d have hours. With Katsura? Maybe days.” Ootani clamped her teeth around the bit of her pipe and crossed her arms.

Gintoki reeled, trying to understand. Ootani didn’t give up. She was the kind of healer who would spend everything she had sewing the injured back together, making sure they kept taking their draughts, showing them ways to go on even with lost limbs or terrible scars. She had already patched Gintoki and Katsura and everyone else up countless times, sending them off with stern warnings to stop wasting her precious supplies — and they’d all been fine, after that. This didn’t make any sense. Zura had been — what, dying? This whole time? And none of them had noticed, none of them had done anything at all to help?

“What can we do?”

Ootani gave another heavy sigh. “I told you, kid. I’m sorry. There’s nothing anyone here can do anymore.”

“No,” Gintoki said, because that wasn’t how this was supposed to work. The three of them, they had something more important than war or life or death waiting for them. If they left Zura behind now, if he — if he wasn’t there then there would be no point in anything they had done. Gintoki couldn’t let that happen.

Gintoki hadn’t even noticed his eyes screwing shut, but they flew wide open and he stared at Ootani, at the night camp. “Anyone here,” he breathed, then found his voice. “Doctor. You said anyone _here_.”

Ootani took that in stride. “Well, you know. With all of those advances in medical science the Amanto have brought the Bakufu — we try to learn what we can, but for some reason they aren’t overly keen to share.”

The Bakufu forces. The Amanto, coming from the skies in ships that could sail the vast empty night between the stars. On the battlefield they fought and died just like anyone else, but Gintoki had seen them bring death in ways none of the Joui could fully comprehend. So why shouldn’t they hold secrets to life as well? “Thank you,” Gintoki said, and turned on his heel, leaving Ootani with brows furrowed in confusion as he dashed back into camp.

Honestly, Gintoki had been hoping to find Sakamoto — sure, he was an idiot, but an idiot with connections. And apparently currently an idiot on a mission to bring relief troops and supplies — it was possible that Gintoki had mostly napped through the briefing about that whole deal, though everyone he woke up to ask seemed to know about it. But Gintoki had sniped at Takasugi right before heading out and stumbling across Zura, so Takasugi it would have to be. 

“Gintoki.” Takasugi cracked an eye open before Gintoki had a chance to nudge him from his sleeping crouch at the doorway. He took a good look at Gintoki’s face and flowed to his feet. “What’s wrong?” For a few moments, Gintoki found himself at a loss for words, and Takasugi swept the camp outside for signs of danger. 

“It’s Zura,” Gintoki managed, and as they left the other sleeping Joui behind he summarized the situation as best he could. Takasugi listened in increasingly tense silence, interrupting only to curse Zura’s stupidity.

“And you’re suggesting—”

“The Bakufu. The doctor says they have something—”

“—which they’re not going to share just because we ask them.”

Gintoki met Takasugi’s sneer with a hard stare. “Yes, they are.” 

That got a sceptical eyebrow from Takasugi. “ _You_ have a plan?” 

Gintoki gave Takasugi his best offended look, though he didn’t exactly blame his friend for sounding dubious. After all, he would much prefer to just rush the enemy camp, beat everyone up and shake the Bakufu infirmary down for whatever they needed — but that was the problem. How would they know what to get? What if they returned to Ootani missing the one thing that would save Zura? “Yeah, I have a plan,” Gintoki retorted. “You’ll love it.”

* * *

Takasugi had not loved it. At least not the part that involved trading his flashy coat for the first spare outfit they could find. He wasn’t overly fond of the part where he had to talk to the Bakufu without killing anyone at all, either. But Gintoki had taken him to see Zura — and Ootani. After that, there hadn’t been much Takasugi wasn’t willing to try.

Which is how Gintoki had ended up here, in this Bakufu camp, surrounded by — well, from his point of view, sandals and knees, mostly. Some spear points and rifles. A bunch of swords. They weren’t taking their eyes off him, even after they’d hobbled him with an even more unreasonable amount of rope than Takasugi had used. (“It has to look realistic, Gintoki.” Yeah but did the bastard have to be so gleeful about it?) It had taken Gintoki a bit of effort to quell panicked reflexes — it wouldn’t do him any good to try and fight his way out right now, and he knew that. His instincts, though? Not so much, not after being honed over years of fighting for his life against the very forces that crowded in around him now.

Relaxing into a slump took more effort than rising and kicking everyone in the face would have had, but at least it got the bared blades away from his neck and gave him a little space to focus. It was hot and uncomfortable as the sun inched closer to the horizon across the cloudless sky, but Gintoki tuned that out to focus on what was going on around him. Mostly he was listening for any hints that the Bakufu forces were riled up about anything other than just unexpectedly taking custody of a real live Shiroyasha. 

From what he could discern over the screeching of the cicadas and from his suboptimal position, there was no sign that anyone had recognized Takasugi, at least. Gintoki had _told him_ his entire silhouette depended entirely on that ridiculous coat, and there was nothing recognizable about him save for that. There was no cackling that they had fooled some poor sap who came to exchange betrayed Joui warriors for medicine either, so that was good.

But the absence of bad news reaching Gintoki wasn’t as comforting as good news would have been. Every so often, an armed soldier moved right behind him, or the tip of a weapon grazed his skin as if to make sure he wasn’t some shadow clone or something, and it left Gintoki twitchy and grumpy. He vented silently, sending furious curses at Takasugi. That bastard, not giving him any sign that the exchange had gone ahead as planned. In the background, there were frantic conversations about what to do with him — he caught words like ‘execution’ and ‘interrogation’ and ‘Amanto’. Just as Gintoki had hoped though, there weren’t enough senior officers in this division of the Bakufu’s army that they could be sure whatever decision they made right now wouldn’t lead to seppuku later. That was the problem with the Bakufu’s liberal execution policies — it made men eager to hand over personal responsibility before they ended up accidentally losing their heads.

Unable to move, unwilling to speak, and having gathered as much about the situation as he could Gintoki had nothing to do except hope and doubt — and Takasugi had left him with far too little hope and far too much doubt. Gintoki was sure he would have done much better if their positions had been reversed. Probably. But they weren’t, because Takasugi of the Kiheitai could pass for an anonymous nobody and Shiroyasha couldn’t, and now he was stuck here worrying that Takasugi had gotten the wrong potion or whatever, or maybe he’d gotten it mixed up with the yakult and drunk it all himself like the dumbass he was, or maybe it had taken them too long and—

No. Gintoki cut that thought right off. No, Zura would be recovering now. Takasugi would have made it back and Ootani would have taken care of things and — Gintoki jerked in his bonds as he caught the glint of a weapon out of the corner of his eye, then went perfectly still as the blade of a fancy katana came into very immediate view. The flat of that katana’s blade lifted his chin, and Gintoki reluctantly squinted at the outline of a uniformed Bakufu officer against the afternoon sun.

There was quick gasp of surprise, and Gintoki felt the man’s tension through the warm steel of his blade. “I can’t believe it,” the outline said in a deep voice. The man used his sword to tilt Gintoki’s head this way and that, getting a thorough look at him that Gintoki couldn’t even reciprocate. “It really is him — I’d recognize that face anywhere.” There was a bunch of rustling and murmuring. “You were right to send for me.”

Ah, so they’d already found someone who didn’t want to play hot potato with Shiroyasha. Gintoki had been hoping he’d rate a general, just for the bragging rights, but a man showing up without an entourage was clearly not that high in the chain of command. He had no idea what the guy was, because he didn’t even bother to introduce himself past poking Gintoki with his sword, which was just plain rude. The blade that had lingered against Gintoki’s jaw moved — not away, as he’d been hoping, but down, the very tip of it sharp against the soft skin of his throat. Gintoki’s muscles locked, and he became very aware of how much he would like to swallow, and what a bad idea that seemed to be right now. 

“So many people after this head,” the man mused, and Gintoki stared at the hand gripping the hilt of the blade, keeping his breathing even and steady. “And I could be the one to take it.” 

Fear and memories clamoured for attention, but Gintoki focused on what was most important to him in that moment. Takasugi had gotten out, Zura would be getting better. Gintoki had done that — whatever happened now, the two of them were still there, and they had that idiot Sakamoto and the rest of the Joui. It would be fine — they could bring Gintoki’s apologies, and Sensei would understand.

The man’s arm drew back, and Gintoki’s mind went blank as his instincts took over. Forget the ropes, forget the soldiers on guard — there was no way Gintoki was going to kneel here and wait for the blade to fall, not as long as he had more important things to survive for. He threw himself back — and was knocked off his feet by a loud wall of air. (Explosives, his brain translated. Going off very nearby, too.) 

Landing hard didn’t keep him down — the circle of men around him had been felled like scythed rice, so all Gintoki had to do was get back on his feet quicker than they did and kick them in the face as he ran. Then he had to keep his balance despite being rather top-heavy with rope as he pelted in the general direction of the explosion. It was the sort of entrance Gintoki expected from the Kiheitai, and he wasn’t going to stick around near that trophy-hunting officer if he could help it. There were lots of panicked cries and soldiers flailing around trying to stop him, but Gintoki barrelled through them and towards the safety of the huge dust cloud raised by the bomb blast.

The acrid scent gunpowder was strong in his nose and the first concealing coils of smoke only an arms length away when his battle-born senses all flooded with alarm. The clarity of extreme danger seemed to slow time for him, and Gintoki could see bullets tear trajectories of clear air through the dust in front of him — but he had nothing to deflect them with, and couldn’t move fast enough even when he knew they were coming. With no other options left to him, Gintoki dove into a roll, propelling himself as far forward as he could in the hopes of spoiling the shooters’ aim.

Halfway to the ground, Gintoki knew the move had saved him at least three bullets to the back. Then he had a moment of shocked confusion when he hit the ground and couldn’t move and didn’t understand how the packed dirt had bashed his leg so hard. It wasn’t until he felt the warm trickle of blood that he realized he’d just been shot, and should probably figure out how to get more cover than _dust_ unless he wanted to collect more bullet holes.

A sword flashed out of the smoke and Gintoki’s heart lurched — too fast, it was coming too fast — and then his rope cocoon split open and he could reach up and clasp the hand Takasugi was offering him. Gintoki hauled himself to his feet, leaning slightly against Takasugi for balance, and opened his mouth to make a quip about his friend’s timing. Instead he found himself gripping Takasugi’s shoulder, and asking, “Zura?” before he could lose his nerve.

Takasugi swatted a bullet out of the air, and gave Gintoki a rare smile. “Doctor says he’ll be fine.”

“Oh.” The relief he felt was so sharp that Gintoki’s legs almost went out from under him, and Takasugi made a disgusted noise and hauled him upright, still fending off repeated attempts to shoot them. 

“Gintoki. Focus. You can sleep later, you lazy bastard.”

“What, you don’t have the strength to carry a wounded comrade back to camp?” Gintoki retorted, and grinned at Takasugi’s eyeroll.

Takasugi bent down to retrieve a discarded sword from the barely visible ground, and tossed it at Gintoki. “I’m not carrying you.”

Gintoki used the sword to thrash a few blinking Bakufu soldiers who came stumbling through the dust, sending them crashing into each other. “Would serve you right. I wouldn’t have gotten shot if you’d only been a bit faster with this rescue.”

“It was your plan! And you wouldn’t have any head left if I’d been any slower,” Takasugi observed, taking down someone who might have been that officer from before. “So don’t come whining to me because you don’t know how to dodge.”

By the time they made it out of the Bakufu’s camp Takasugi was still grudgingly supporting Gintoki, despite the fact that he had expressed a preference for a headless corpse over a living body with a smartass mouth in an empty curly head.

Gintoki was trying to keep the retorts coming, but it was true that his head did feel rather light at the moment — probably for the same reason that his hakama leg was soaked in blood. He also kept looking around, trying to make sure they weren’t taking any casualties, but it seemed like Sakamoto’s relief troops had arrived just in time to offer enough support that they could beat an organized retreat without leaving anyone behind. 

The distance between the Joui and Bakufu camps wasn’t great enough that Gintoki lost too much more blood, so he was still conscious when Takasugi and Sakamoto hauled him into the infirmary. Enough that he looked around for Zura, and was disappointed that he hadn’t yet spotted him when Ootani herded him into the screened-off corner to sew him up. The doctor didn’t know whether to be angry or exalted at the unintended consequences of those words she had spoken so casually to Gintoki. The result was cautiously optimistic medical gushing about the effects of the Amanto drug they’d gotten hold of, and stony-faced indifference when Gintoki expressed discomfort at his own treatment. “Shouldn’t have gotten yourself shot then,” the doctor snapped as Gintoki tried to garner a bit of sympathy, and Gintoki wished he could pass out as easily as he napped.

Clearly it was a skill he’d need to work on, as staying conscious for the duration of having the bullet wound in his thigh treated was deeply unpleasant. When Ootani was done with him two of the young volunteers she had claimed for her infirmary showed up. Joui quarters were always nebulous at best, but Ootani said something about leaving her real patients in peace, and Gintoki found himself gently guided to a distant corner of the daimyo’s mansion complex. It seemed like it might have been the resident quarters of a much-unloved relative, but a large shade tree had left it less stuffy than much of the rest of the house, and Gintoki found a bedroll already spread for him, next to — “Zura?”

There was another bedroll there, and at Gintoki’s entrance a bandaged figure sat up and stared at him. “It’s not Zura, it’s Katsura,” Zura said sharply, eyes darkening with a more serious shade of annoyance than Gintoki was used to. He waved the helping hands away and hobbled over to sit — or collapse awkwardly, depending on who you asked — on his bedroll and peer at Zura.

“You look much better,” Gintoki said, pleased. Zura had even managed to get his hair all silky and done up properly again.

“You look much worse,” Zura snapped.

While the energy Zura was displaying definitely allayed the last of Gintoki’s unacknowledged worries, it was an annoying way to thank someone. “I just need a bit of rest,” Gintoki shrugged, ignoring the burning ache in his leg.

Zura’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Oh, is that so? Well then maybe I should go throw myself at some Bakufu forces.”

Gintoki blinked in bafflement. “Oi. What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s supposed to mean that I would have been _fine_ , just some rest and I would have recovered perfectly fine but you—”

“Uh. I was there. You were the furthest from ‘fine’ I have ever seen. And that includes literal corpses, Zura. Which is what you would have been, by the way.”

Zura practically snarled at Gintoki. “Then _that_ would have been fine, Gintoki.”

Gintoki still had no idea why Zura was so angry, but it was contagious. “It damn well would _not_.” He leaned closer to Zura, and had to put a hand down for support when the motion pulled at the fresh stitches in his leg.

“What do you think war is, Gintoki? People die — all of us, we can all die. Because we chose to do this — you know why we chose to do this, you know that makes it all worth it.”

Gintoki shook his head. “No. Not if you — no.”

“But if _you_ die, that’s fine?” Zura’s voice had risen in volume without rising in pitch — he always had to be so damn elegant, not even puberty could knock him down a peg.

“I’m not going to die!” Death definitely wouldn’t sting quite so much. “It’s just a flesh wound, even Ootani said—”

“That’s… Gintoki.” Zura bowed his head and took a deep breath before looking back up at Gintoki. “You _surrendered to the Bakufu_.”

“I didn’t ‘surrender’, I just… traded myself in for a bit and — wait, what. How do you know that? Takasugi told you?”

“Of course he told me!

“Takasugi you little shit,” Gintoki murmured, then turned to Zura. “No, but — we had a plan! It wasn’t anything like surrender, we just—”

“Gintoki. Do you have any idea — even the vaguest concept of an idea — of how much the Bakufu wants to kill you? Not just in a general sense, but you in particular?”

Gintoki remembered the tip of that katana at his throat, the eagerness in its wielder’s voice, then shoved the accompanying feelings away before they could make him shudder. “Sure,” he said. “That’s why I knew it would work.”

“But what if it _hadn’t_?” And there Zura’s voice broke, and Gintoki’s heart stuttered in pain. 

“Ah—?” The look on his friend’s face — oh shit. Zura was _hurting_. Not angry, not really. This wasn’t fighting anger, or Gintoki not living up to Zura’s samurai expectations anger. It was something else, something you felt when you were helpless to protect a comrade from that killing blow in battle, or — or when you watched the most important person in your heart be ripped out of your life. Something very much like what Gintoki had felt last night outside the storehouse, listening to the crickets and Ootani’s words. Only then nothing had been certain, and now everything was. “But it did,” Gintoki said quietly, all indignation drained out of him by that brief storm of emotions.

Zura just stared at him, eyes bright and brittle and Gintoki didn’t know what to do, what to say, because he would make the same decision all over again even knowing that Zura might hate him for it. Because the alternative was Ootani’s look of despair and the corpse-paleness and fever-heat of Zura’s shivering body dying by degrees. And he’d come back only a little worse for wear, hadn’t he? But that wasn’t what Zura wanted — what Zura needed to hear. And Shouyou had managed to teach him some manners, after all. So he dropped his gaze and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

Zura stiffened, and Gintoki could feel the weight of his stare, trying to judge the sincerity of his words. So he looked Zura straight in the eyes and repeated the words. “I’m sorry, alright? I get it.” Because he would do it all over again, but if Zura did the same for him, he’d feel like killing the bastard himself. 

His words got Zura to relax a bit, the sharp edges of the hurt in his eyes softening. “Well. Don’t — don’t do that again.”

“Wasn’t planning to,” Gintoki said, quite emphatically.

“Are they done yet?” The poor excuse for a whisper came from right outside the screen doors opening on the lengthening shadows of the garden outside. That idiot Sakamoto had absolutely no grasp of volume control.

“I don’t know. Why don’t you go ask them?” Takasugi drawled.

“Good idea!” Sakamoto said, and popped his head around the screen. “So, you two done with the yelling yet?”

Zura sighed a pained sigh, and Gintoki grinned, glad to have someone else draw Zura’s ire for a bit. “Sure,” he said. “As long as you brought sickbed gifts. If not you can piss right off.”

Sakamoto laughed, loud and ridiculous, and a bounty of local specialities from wherever the hell he’d gone for reinforcements rained down upon them. Gintoki grabbed at what seemed to promise sweetness, and Zura ducked and shoved a few offending packages in their bright gift paper off of his blanket. “This is entirely unnecessary,” he said. “We don’t need these indulgences — the men will come by with today’s rations soon.”

Gintoki hastily shoved as many snacks as he could reach under his own blanket. Screw rations, he was eating delicious treats full of anko or custard or whatever for dinner. He deserved it, after the day he’d had.

“Well, you’re both energetic,” Takasugi observed.

Gintoki’s leg was pounding waves of dull pain through his entire body with every heartbeat, but he had absolutely no intention of letting either Takasugi or Zura know how hard he was struggling to stay sitting upright. “Sure are. We just—” he glanced at Zura, hoping they were reconciled enough for the joke. “We just need a bit of rest.”

Zura snorted, an undignified sound of amusement that made Gintoki grin. “Yes. Some sleep and we’ll be back on our feet in time to move out.” Then he added, with obvious concern. “Anything new about that? Should I—”

“No need,” Takasugi assured him. “You know your men. You can trust them for a day in your absence, can’t you?”

At that, Zura nodded decisively. “Yes.” And he looked up at Takasugi. “And I trust you too. Despite your occasional lapses in judgement.”

It was Takasugi’s turn to snort, but they must already have cleared the air, because it didn’t raise any hackles. “Good. Rest up.”

Sakamoto nodded. “Yeah. Have yourselves some snacks and go to sleep!”

“Samurai don’t need snacks, Sakamoto,” Zura said primly, and Sakamoto laughed. 

“Tell Kintoki that!” 

“I think he was,” Gintoki said. “And it’s Gintoki.”

Sakamoto ignored him, and laughed again. “It’s so nice in here! Maybe I’ll bring my stuff over and get an early night myself.”

Gintoki groaned, and Zura frowned. “Don’t you have supplies to deal with?”

Takasugi grabbed Sakamoto before he could accidentally prod Zura into rushing all over camp making sure things were actually being done properly. “Yes, he does. Say goodnight, Sakamoto.”

“Good night! Don’t let the bedbugs bite!”

Takasugi didn’t dignify the late afternoon with any similar parting phrases, but he nodded to both of them. “Mend well,” he said, and then he made sure to get Sakamoto out of casual yelling range. Gintoki had a feeling they’d come drifting back by nightfall, and he didn’t really mind. In fact, having all three of them around made rest come easier, some nights.

Just like having Zura scold him for the hoard of snacks spilling out of his blankets made it easier to breathe through the pain as he lay back down. He closed his eyes and relaxed, and then he said, “Next time…”

Zura stopped mid-scold. “You promised, there won’t—”

“Next time you’re _hurt_ , Zura,” Gintoki continued, and was gratified by how very quiet Zura went. “You tell me. Or Ootani. Or anyone.” Gintoki wasn’t particularly keen to remember last night in too much clarity, but Zura dying as he insisted he didn’t want to be a bother? That wasn’t something he would forget any time soon.

“Ah,” Zura said, and when Gintoki cracked his eyes open it was to see his friend’s features marked with unusual embarrassment. “Yes.”

They were both silent for a moment, the cicadas screaming their summer chorus outside. “Because…” Gintoki murmured, and Zura nodded quickly.

“I know. And — and I’m sorry.”

Gintoki’s lips quirked in a smile. Waiting through Zura’s earlier outburst had been worth it, for that. To know that Zura — noble and unselfish to a fault — couldn’t help but realize now that his own life was nothing he could just go and sacrifice for no reason. “Yeah,” Gintoki said. “But maybe — could we just decide we’re not going to have a next time?”

Zura seemed on the verge of telling Gintoki the world they lived in was not one where such guarantees could be made, but then he smiled. “Yes,” he said. “That does sound good.” And for that moment, Gintoki let himself feel like that was as true a promise as any of the other ones he’d made.

**Author's Note:**

> The H/C Bingo prompts to be used in this fic were:
> 
> septicemia / infected wounds  
> bullet wounds  
> learning to be loved  
>  _wild card:_ captivity
> 
> Thanks to Xparrot for the quick beta & encouragement!


End file.
